


Underneath the tree

by justinmymindpalace



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Christmas, Christmas Carols, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Kisses, Christmas concert, Declarations Of Love, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, Dysfunctional Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Funny, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Angst, Mrs Holmes - Freeform, Mulled wine, Mycroft's Meddling, Past Relationship(s), Protective Mycroft, Series 3 compliant, Sexual Tension, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being a Drama Queen, Snogging, TJLC, Touchy-Feely, Trains, Virgin Sherlock, justinmymindpalace, mince pies, not really any cases, obligatory mistletoe kissing, possible sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9049039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justinmymindpalace/pseuds/justinmymindpalace
Summary: The pair begin their first Christmas together as a couple. Dare I say more but three words: trains, carol concerts and kissing. Sound enticing like a warm mince pie on Christmas day? Then read on ;)Just a quick thing I have thrown together really, please be kind!Comments are more than welcome..





	1. Chapter 1

To say that the 3 and a half hour train ride was painful would be an understatement. A huge one. Ending in 2 apologies (more so grovelling) from John on behalf of ‘the tall, snobby one sat in seat 32A’ as well as a formal complaint from a passenger who reported Sherlock’s behaviour as ‘suspicious activity’. Needless to say, a hasty phone call intervention from Greg and a senior deputy at NSY was required but thankfully managed to prevent the British Transport police from getting involved at the 7th stop on the GWR line from London Victoria.

It had all started with a phone call a few hours earlier: John had just got out of the shower and was padding around their flat with the cream towel swung low around his hips and cursing because his flatmate had yet again, turned off the heating while he was mid-wash. Apparently, it was a vital experiment in relation to a small new case he had taken on (except only last week he’d been grumbling that it was barely a 3 and not worth a second of his ‘invaluable’ time). John was certain the measuring of his skin’s sensitivity in correlation with the temperature change was a feeble, yet slightly endearing, excuse on Sherlock’s part to reticently trace John’s pectorals with wide blown eyes and not for gathering case-reliant data. Even so, he wasn’t going to bother questioning it. It was still as though on occasion Sherlock needed to muster up the courage to just go ahead and touch him, this was part of the softer and more delicate side of Sherlock; the pure doting side that only John was privy to and it was perfect.

They were still taking things slowly in their new relationship in order to treasure and savour these precious moments. So far, kissing; holding hands; cuddling (clothed and shirtless); sleeping In the same beds and gentle touching occurred regularly. More often than not they had to prevent some of these moments from escalating into full blown sex activities when they were both panting hard and grasping at one another frantically.

Neither one of them said a word when one of them suddenly needed to make a hurried trip to the bathroom afterwards.

It wasn't teasing, just slow guidance together and ensuring Sherlock wasn't overwhelmed by it all. Besides, John did _not_ want a stupid advice session from Mycroft about 'engaging in intercourse or similar activities with my brother'. He was the bugger who had gotten Sherlock confused and upset with his god-awful advice before they even got together. What did Mycroft even know about sex? On second thoughts, he'd rather never know.

Storming into the sitting room with a look that could possibly even unsettle aforementioned boyfriends brother, he had opened his mouth to begin his own lecture on how he did not want his water going nearly sub-zero at half 7 in the morning on Christmas Eve. Well, until he saw Sherlock silently bunched up in his chair, hugging his knees all brought up under his chin, hair beautifully mussed from sleep, still pyjama clad, toes twitching beneath him and phone pressed tightly to his ear but baring a tight-lipped expression. Instead John sighed defeatedly and let his expression soften a little as he wrapped his arms across his bare chest, waiting for his madman. Sherlock raised his eyeline and pointedly scanned across the expanse of his naked chest and quirked the side of his lip upwards friskily.

“Who’s that?” John mouthed, nodding towards the phone and was met with an eye roll and a non-committal shrug.

If he's rolled out of that side of bed this morning I’ll make him pay for it then, he mused. John reached over to grab his Christmas patterned, woollen cable knit jumper left on the arm of his chair from last night. Tantalisingly slowly he dragged it over his head and down over his stomach, almost like a reverse strip tease. Sherlock glared back. Point made.

He sunk into his chair and swiftly grabbed the morning’s newspaper and began flicking through aimlessly, ignoring Sherlock to his heart’s content until a cross baritone broke the quiet.

“Mummy, no! I attended last year, not again, it’s not fair, I don’t even like Turkey and-”. Ah, so that’s who he was talking to. Sherlock promptly hung up after a muffled “love you too” and propelled the phone across the lounge and let it hit the edge of the door with a resounding thud but it thankfully missed any of the Christmas decorations.

“So, what was that all about hmm?” John smirked as Sherlock muttered back haughtily, “Mummy wants you and I to go spend Christmas with them”. Ahh.

“Perfect, I’d be honoured” John retorted, genuinely pleased and watched the consulting detective opposite him start showing signs of an ensuing tantrum.

“Oh, and while I book our train tickets-“, a grumpy huff interrupted with “they’re already sorted for this afternoon”, “Right, while I go get dressed and pack my things, go turn the blessed heating back on before we catch something. Anyway, it’ll be a nice and peaceful getaway for us Sher” and prodded his foot gently against Sherlock’s calf and winks at him respectively. He knows Sherlock secretly loves him doing that, and instantly spies the pink flush sneaking up into Sherlock's cheeks and any of their silly morning grumpiness or animosity is broken by their shared smiles now. Positively both besotted.

* * *

 

Fast forward a couple of hours and John is being towed by Sherlock hand in hand along the first class carriage, the detective apparently desperately seeking optimum seats with the best window view and distance to the buffet car of all places, “Let’s sit here John, if you sit by the window you won’t be disturbed by me getting up and walking around”.

He'd tried reprimanding him, encouraging him to try and finish a crossword, clasping his hand and simply telling him to just settle down and catch up on some sleep but John’s words had evidently gone unnoticed as Sherlock waltzed off determinedly. Right then, so much for a quiet journey. He must make a mental note to buy a tranquilliser next time, maybe then he would stay in his seat with him John thinks as he pulls out the bland novel he grabbed in the station WHSmiths.  


* * *

 

It had been /imperative/ to tell the lady wearing the red, flowered blouse and mock tinsel earrings that her husband was having an affair with the 24 year old sat in coach C, seat 12B in standard class. Very obvious. The man had gone on 3 trips to the toilet and twice to the buffet car in half an hour and every time visited Coach C instead. Need he say more.

(Tinsel earrings though, really? More like glittery tonsils hanging from her ear lobes. Actually, real tonsils from a cadaver would have looked nicer).

Then it was of the upmost importance to tell the lady working in the buffet serving mince pies that the ticket collector fancied her and wanted to sleep with her. Come on, his walk alone gave that away. Spreading some Christmas spirit and love he supposed John would be proud of him for telling her, given the old romantic he is.

That was up until the woman dropped the mince pie she was handing to him and onto the floor (waste) and shrieked that he was 20 years older (why she was concerned about age gaps he couldn’t understand, the man clearly didn’t seem to be having any issue down there). As well as the fact she thought he was disgusting. Oh.

That formed a second complaint. Plus, he had to pay for a second mince pie for John.

He had tried with earnest to sit still back in his chair (forcibly put there by his army doctor who had heard part of the carfuffle) and even dozed on his shoulder for a while. Gentle hands soothed him but when he was denied a cuddling-cum-full on tongues session by the loud cough from the woman in the aisle opposite (wearing a hideous baby blue duffle coat) he gave up being serene and decided to poke around the carriage instead and nose into standard class. Far too stuffy in there, especially when a young teenager barged past him angrily, so he surmised deducing passenger’s luggage was far more entertaining. Except prodding with zips and then challenging oneself to deduce _who_ it precisely belonged to, with steepled fingers under your chin and sauntering while your coat flows behind you dramatically is not to so simple. Doing so down aisles full of Andersons means you get reported apparently (bit not good John?).

For the last 40 minutes of the journey John made certain that Sherlock was the one pinned in the window seat and warned him to stay there, but if he was brutally honest Sherlock was just being Sherlock and wasn’t intentionally annoying everyone. He squeezed the taller thigh next to him fondly in assurance as he continued attempting to read the dreadful novel. This followed being gifted a crumbled mince pie that had been pulled out of a Belstaff pocket with tentative hands, which meant squeezing a few chaste kisses in here and there was obligatory. Thankfully the lady in the blue duffel coat left at the 8th station stop.

* * *

 

The train ride had been almost bearable but after climbing out of the taxi and seeing the Holmes’ family home, John realised that all of the morning’s antics were of no compare. Maybe his enthusiasm earlier had been misplaced in a haze of Christmassy cheer? It hit him with the realisation of how he was about to face his boyfriend’s delightful and somehow normal parents, which could potentially be cripplingly awkward after the whole Mary debacle last year, as well as having to be be polite to Mycroft for numerous days (note: inevitable arguments to spit between the two brothers).  
Now all that was going to be a far more worrying challenge. Or a mistake.

John snapped out of his rumination quickly and began heaving their bags and shared suitcase from the boot. He saw the taxi driver off with a sizeable tip and grimaced, automatically rubbing at his left shoulder and shifting his weight to his left leg subconsciously as he felt his right tingle slightly as he properly looked up at the building looming ahead, the front windows adorned with small lights and decorations. Courage in the face of danger Watson, he told himself. Sherlock turned around in the near distance, the slight chill in the air tinting his cheeks pink, “Come on John, otherwise Mycroft will have eaten all the food Mummy has laid out for our arrival and I won’t be able to spike his pudding with salt” he beckoned, grinning from ear to ear.

  
God, he looked so carefree and young. He wouldn’t miss that look for the world.

Rolling his eyes and giving a short laugh John started up the path, puffing his chest out pluckily as he tried to brace himself for whatever his first Christmas as Sherlock’s lover could bring. Here goes nothing. Or here goes everything.


	2. Chapter 2

As they stood outside the old wooden front door, decked with a festive wreath, John took a slow breath before he felt Sherlock’s fingers curl around his left hand and his palm clasping at the bottom of his wrist. A silent _we can do this together_ , just seconds prior to the door swinging open and them being hit by the overwhelming scent of homecooked food. His wrist was dropped without aforethought.

“Oh Sherlock dear, come in!” a shrill voice squealed before enveloping him in a tight hug which was accepted gently by Sherlock as John found himself relieved by the hands of Sherlock’s father, who was wearing a rather itchy looking Christmas cardigan with reindeers on. _Tasteful_.

“Lovely to see you John” he said softly, with no animosity in his tone and John loosened the tension in his shoulders and nodded politely back after his hellos, now fiddling with the end of his coat, unsure of what to do.

“Sherlock, go take John’s coat for him and show him into the kitchen, he’s dithering” Mummy whispered into Sherlock’s curls as she patted his arms warmly before pushing him towards John.

“We’ve kept the food warm, there’s plenty left” she chirped as she headed off with Sherlock’s father in tow, leaving Sherlock sniggering with “There won’t be any left seeing as Mycroft’s here” before he was punched in the elbow and gave an over the top ‘Ow!’ (always the dramatist).

“Oi, it’s Christmas Eve, I know he’s an annoying prat but just try and leave him alone a bit for you parents sakes” John retorted. “By the way, do you think your er, father choose that cardigan?” he uttered in a low breath.

“Thankfully no, Mummy would have done that and I can tell she made it at her Arts and Crafts club, I highly doubt you’ll be exempt from her designs” he drawled, John found himself wincing comically and fought back a giggle, as Sherlock hung up their jackets and sped into the kitchen to grab his much-loved seat next to the kitchen cupboards. The tea was better than expected, the platter was delicious. Sherlock insisted they must visit the local beehives to see where their honey had come from later in the week with raw eagerness. World War 3 did not erupt between the two brothers, aside from the 2 sausage rolls you-know-who had lobbed with precise aim and Mycroft threw slightly less dagger-eyed looks in his own direction, so one could even say that it was pleasant. They’d held hands under the table throughout most of the meal too, but they need not have kept so secret about it all as Sherlock spied the knowing glint in his mother’s eye and the coy grin.

It wasn’t as though they hadn’t told Sherlock’s parents about the developments between them, it was more that they decided to stave off the inevitably awkward questioning from people and let people discover for themselves that they were an item and just accept it. In a non-explicit scenario preferably.

Lestrade had begun to realise within the first few days when Sherlock had only insulted his intelligence on the Hammersmith double homicide case once and finally put two and two together when he saw John going all sloe eyed whilst watching Sherlock in his element at work (that wasn’t out of the ordinary, it was the loving wink when the consulting detective finished his deductions that did it). That called for a quiet pint down the pub which Sherlock thankfully refused to attend due to some experiments on human toes and ended with John becoming Lestrade’s wing man and then getting drunk enough that the barman told them to leave eventually. Apparently, Anderson lost £60 in the NSY pool as he’d guessed that the pair would have outed themselves in a far more ludicrous manner involving handcuffs.

Mrs Hudson had found out when she walked into the sitting room and they were both topless and straddling on the sofa, Sherlock writhing a bit as John gave him a love bite. She had squealed with happiness and continued her celebrations by rushing out and opening a bottle of Champagne downstairs with Mrs Turner. Now that had been mortifying but Sherlock kissed him until John saw the funny side of it.

   

* * *

 

“Sherlock, get up and help your father and Mycroft wash the dishes for once; John come with me”. John’s heart dropped. Oh dear, being summoned by your boyfriends mother in your forties. God, he’d need a strong drink afterwards. He pulled a face at Sherlock, who also looked just as bemused and slightly concerned but was already under strict instructions and was lazily drying dishes whilst toying with his phone in the other hand. Great.

The living room was warm with the lit fire, decorations and family photos placed carefully around the room. He'd have to look at those with Sherlock later properly. Everything was just as he had remembered from last year, apart from the new cream rug by the hearth and he rolled back and forth on his heels slightly, a feigned relaxed smile which he hoped wouldn't belie his niggling worry. Expectant.

“Now John, I just wanted to say this, I’m so glad that you two are obviously an item now and I was told not to interrogate you but after everything you’ve been through this year with that woman of yours, never really liked her particularly in the first place, I’m glad you came to your senses. He told me all about you only 5 days after meeting you, all those years ago and I knew then that a really marvellous man had taken his attention, he's such a careful soul at heart. It may have taken a while and he certainly isn't an easy one to live with but I hope you’ll continue to be good to him and that you'll not break his heart again”. She stated all of this sincerely in a hushed voice, yet the underlying passive aggressive tone couldn't be missed.

If that wasn’t the protective parent speech John would be blown (hopefully literally by Sherlock at some point). He coughed and cleared his throat, nodding with somewhat raised brows but before he could say a word arms were flung around him and he was brought into the tightest hug ever for a good 20 seconds.

“You can call me Mummy, he told me you know, about your parents, so we’ll always be yours too from now on. You’ve done my boy a world of good and I’m so delighted but now go get him to help you both unpack before we head to the carol concert and I start getting all emotional” she said a little tearily. It was touching actually, to know that the Holmes' accepted him and deemed him suitable for their gorgeous son. He'd feared after them seeing him with Mary they'd never be fond of him being with Sherlock, hence his stoic front earlier, but he had known deep down that that man was the only person he'd ever want to spend the rest of his life with. That was a whole other chapter altogether, yet to be opened. Relieved to have now been released from her strong but homely grip with a pat, John smiled and thanked her quietly, exactly at the moment when Sherlock marched into the living room scowling.

“I was not told that we would have to go to the abysmal carol service this year, why can’t John and I stay here instead!”

“Sherlock…” John warned with a low commanding tone, apparently there wasn’t a Holmesian family etiquette that Sherlock followed even at home as he was cut off again that day “and that irritating Whinthrope girl with the mousey hair and squeaky voice will be there and will go all-“

“Sherlock !” John scolded lowly with military vigour which both got the message across and shut his whining completely up. Mrs Holmes obviously sensed the forthcoming telling-Sherlock-off-because-he’s-being-a-cock speech and busied herself back off into the kitchen, tutting at her son as she passed with a short laugh.

“Just stay with me and she’ll come nowhere near you, ok? I mean that. She may try to come near me because of my devilishly handsome good looks though...” John teased, causing Sherlock to growl and kiss him frantically. “No she won’t because you’re mine” the baritone muttered between kisses, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth playfully. John smirked into the kiss at just how possessive Sherlock was acting, it was actually rather hot. For someone with previously limited knowledge in relationships, he had been pleasantly surprised how quickly Sherlock had advanced at kissing and other more private acts: a true reminder that he must never underestimate his genius.

“Oh for goodness sakes, go outside if you’re going to do all of that nonsense” Mycroft groaned from the hallway, interrupting their moment with a look that could kill, positively disgusted but with no umbrella in sight.

“Piss off Mycroft, you’re only jealous” Sherlock spat, sniggering and then whining far louder than necessary as John lapped at Sherlock’s collarbones purely to annoy the man further. Those delicious sounds would always drive him mad and lusty, he couldn't quite believe they were even doing this here. He then licked a stripe up to Sherlock’s pulse point, standing on his tip toes now to inhale the scent of cologne and literally taste the musky aroma Sherlock gave off 24/7. Pure sex. It was more intoxicating than any mulled wine or eggnog. That sent Mycroft scuttling away scathingly, pronto.

“The carol concert may not be quite so boring as I had thought then” Sherlock murmured between his quieter groans of pleasure.

John cupped and cradled Sherlock’s face in the peaceful firelight that bathed the room with an amber glow, the colour flickering and lapping at the angular edges of their bodies. Running the worn pad of his thumb down Sherlock’s angular cheekbone he sighed contentedly, nodding as he gazed at Sherlock’s parted cupid bow lips which were a little red from their intimate caresses. Sherlock pulled John flush against his chest, holding him closely by wrapping his arms firmly around John’s lower back.  John moved his right hand from Sherlock's jawbone to stroke his fingers through the inky curls at his nape, whilst the grandfather clock chimed in the hallway, signalling their imminent plans.

“Mm, maybe not quite as dull I suppose too” he laughed and rested his head against the plane of Sherlock’s chest. They were just an ordinary, normal family at heart; if he consciously ignores the fact that Mycroft has kidnapped him several times. A little dysfunctional, as all families go, just with one addition. One stunning and perfectly extraordinary and non-sociopathic genius who completely changed his life for the better.

One he just so happens to be  _in love_ with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this everyone :)
> 
> (Old note: Please bear with, I know this isn't great but I am trying and am frightfully busy given Christmas has just happened. Hope you're all having nice Christmases/Hanukkah/holidays and let me know what you think. Tempted to add some subtle sexy times next chapter but we'll see.)

**Author's Note:**

> Do you like it so far? Not sure if I should include any sexy times later on in this one...  
> 


End file.
